


A Better Bullet

by Xanthos_Samurai



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Catholic Guilt, Choking, Dom Dick Grayson, Dom/sub, Dominance, Excessive Banter, Explicit Language, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masochism, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Submission, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sadism, Slow Burn, Sub Jason Todd, Submission, at least for now, sex dungeon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanthos_Samurai/pseuds/Xanthos_Samurai
Summary: Everyone in the Bat-Family has secrets, but not all secrets are created equal. Dick and Jason fight and love each other like the brothers they are. But when Dick finds out about Jason's secret desire for pain, he makes him an offer he can't refuse.Neither one of them has any idea how far this will go, or what kinds of secrets will be brought to light as a consequence.Desire and Shame. Lust and Trauma. Faith and Guilt. None of these things stay hidden forever.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 37
Kudos: 123





	1. Mortification

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very excited about this - I've got a lot of plans in mind for these boys. 
> 
> A big shout-out and thanks for Orphean for being a great beta and cheerleader.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It was Friday night and Jason Todd had not expected to be spending it in Dick Grayson’s bathroom watching his so-called older brother apply a seemingly endless and bewildering series of products to his face, but here he was. When Dick had opened the window to let him in (Jason was opposed to using any sort of _conventional_ ingress) and said that he could come in but that he was about to go wash his face and do his skincare routine, Jason had tagged along. 

_I can’t believe he has a “skincare routine”_ , he had thought. _Sounds fucking ridiculous. Whatever. Worst case scenario it won’t take long. Best case scenario I get to make fun of him forever._

To Jason’s initial joy, it had turned out to be the best case scenario. He had begun his observation with smug amusement, but that had fast faded into intrigued horror and was now verging into outright outrage.

“How the hell can you call yourself a _man_ if this is what you do in your spare time?” Jason picked up one of the little bottles. The label was in Korean, which had never been his strong suit. Obviously he needed to brush up on it because as far as he could tell the bottle said something about “snail slime”. That couldn’t be right.

"Say whatever you want, but having a decent skincare routine has multiple benefits," retorted Dick as he patted yet another type of cream into his face. "For one, it helps with the secret identity. If you look tired and shitty all the time, people are going to notice and wonder _why_ you look tired and shitty all the time. For two, people trust people who look like they take care of themselves. It's a fact. For three, what is wrong with wanting to look good and age well?"

"How did you even _learn_ this stuff?" Jason sat on the toilet lid and stared at him. He hated it that he found the whole thing weirdly intriguing. It was like a whole-ass ritual.

"Babs," responded Dick promptly. "It started because I asked her how she always got all the kohl around her eyes off so well after being on patrol. My makeup remover wasn't cutting it. She said she'd teach me but in exchange she got to do a whole makeover on me. I think it backfired because she got super pissed at me. Something about my pores." 

He smirked at himself in the mirror.

He had the second best smirk in the world and Jason hated him for it. Instead of thinking too hard about that, however, Jason changed the subject.

"So you used makeup remover to take that shit off? I never even thought of that."

Dick stopped and turned his head to stare at Jason.

"How the hell were you getting it off?"

"Just water and whatever soap I had lying around." Jason shrugged. "Dishsoap, usually. And a lot of scrubbing."

Nevermind. This whole scenario was now worth it just to see the look of abject horror on Dick's face.

"You were using _dish soap_ on your _face_?"

"Whatever! I'm not into fancy fucking skincare routines. I'm sure Bruce doesn't do this shit."

Dick snorted. He actually snorted. "Are you kidding me? Bruce practically spreads La Mer on his fucking toast at breakfast. He’s more vain than a Gotham socialite housewife."

Jason blinked at him. "What the hell is La Mer?"

"It's super fancy skincare stuff. Anyways." Dick turned back to the mirror and studied his eyebrows. "The point is that good skincare separates us from the animals and at the very least you are going to start using makeup remover and moisturizer."

"I don't _need_ makeup remover. My mask covers my whole face now so no need for the kohl." Jason felt very smug that he could shoot down this particular point.

"Well, that explains your chin acne. We'll get you some cleanser and moisturizer then." Dick didn't even glance at Jason or give him time to retort. “In any case, to what do I owe the pleasure? It’s not like you to drop by for no reason.” 

Jason shrugged and clasped his hands behind his head.

“What, I can’t just drop by and see you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Satisfied with his face at last, Dick turned and gave Jason his full attention and the full force of his blue, blue eyes. “I’m always glad to see you, Jay.”

Jason met his gaze for a long moment, then looked away. He hated himself for looking away but it was well-known that Dick could stare down anybody in the family, up to and including Bruce. Not Batman, of course, but Dick could still get Bruce to blink first.

“Honestly I didn’t think you’d be home,” he admitted. “It’s Friday night so I thought you’d be out on patrol. Not doing…” He gestured at the menagerie of bottles and jars and tubs on the bathroom counter. “...Whatever this is.”

“This is called ‘self care’, and you should try some sometime,” retorted Dick. “Even I take a night off once in a while. It’s important to find a way to blow off steam… Even Bruce says it’s important to take breaks to stay sharp. So tonight is my night off and I spend it doing skincare and watching terrible television and eating terrible junk food because I _can_.”

“You go, girl.” Jason spoke in a deadpan with no apparent irony. That did not mean there was no irony. “Anyways, can we get out of your bathroom? Feels super weird to have a conversation in here.”

Dick led the way out and Jason followed. He leaned on Dick’s kitchen counter and grabbed a handful of almonds from the bowl there that was always magically full of little snacks.

“I didn’t think you’d be home but I figured I’d drop by anyways just for kicks,” he continued from his earlier point. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Not a convenient neighborhood to happen to be in, considering it’s all the way in Blüdhaven.” Dick sat on the back of his sofa with his legs crossed, perfectly balanced in a way that would have looked absurd for anyone that wasn’t a world-class gymnast. “But hey, not looking any gift horses in any mouths here. What’re you after in the neighborhood?”

“Oh, just gonna go to a club or bar or something. All the dive bars in Gotham suck now - they’re all quote unquote _ironic_ dive bars. Gotta come all the way out here to the sticks to find a proper old-school disgusting dive bar.” Jason caught Dick’s nonplussed expression and felt spurred on to elaborate. “You know, a really filthy establishment can really only thrive in a really filthy city. Like this one. And if I don’t feel like I might catch hepatitis from a bar, it’s not dirty enough.”

“Could you, just possibly, if you can help it, maybe consider _not_ trash-talking my city in front of me?” Dick pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture of exasperation that spoke so strongly of Bruce that for a moment Jason was almost taken aback.

“Sure.” He shrugged and popped almonds into his mouth to prove how nonchalant he was. “Everyone feels protective of their own place, even if it is a shithole. I apologize for insulting your shithole.

Dick’s right eyebrow quirked up slightly. Jason remembered being so jealous of that when he was younger. He’d tried to teach himself how to do it by staring into a mirror and holding down one brow and raising the other. It had never worked. Dick’s eyebrows were simply better, stronger, smarter than Jason’s. Just like how everything else about Dick was better, stronger, smarter than Jason as well.

A rush of surly annoyance prickled through Jason and he pushed himself roughly away from the counter, half-throwing the remaining almonds in his hand back into the bowl.

“Guess I’ll go and let you get to your terrible TV and ice cream.” There was an edge to his voice that he hadn’t intended but oh well, too late now. He started towards the door. “Have fun with that.”

Dick rose to his feet. Now both brows were raised in an expression somewhere between wry amusement and actual confusion. “You invited yourself in here, insulted my city, and now you’re mad at _me_?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so _sensitive_.” Jason grabbed the doorknob but stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Jay.”

God _damn_ it. He hadn’t even heard Dick walk over to him. How did he always move so _fast_ and so _quiet_? Batman training, duh. But even when he was just Dick Grayson and not Nightwing, you never heard Dick coming unless he wanted you to.

“What?” Jason glared over at the face and the body connected to the hand that was still resting on the shoulder of his leather jacket.

“Do you want some company out tonight? I’d love to go grab a beer with you. We can find the diviest dive bar in this whole shithole town and catch all the hepatitis you want.” Dick was smiling, and the smile was a real smile. He wasn’t teasing or even being ironic -- he really meant it. That was the fucking thing about Dick Grayson -- he always really meant it.

Something tightened, and then went limp in Jason’s stomach. He took a breath and made himself release the angry tension from his shoulders. 

_He deserves so much better than you,_ said the voice inside Jason’s head. _That’s why you’re such an asshole._

Dick was still looking at him with that “I’m game if you are” expression. It was, even for Jason Todd, noted asshole and Prick Prince of Gotham, hard to turn down. But he had other plans tonight, ones that didn’t involve Dick Grayson _or_ Nightwing. After all, that was why he’d dropped by to see if Dick was going out on patrol tonight. 

“Nah it’s cool. I’m in a shitty mood tonight and I wouldn’t be good company. Maybe I need to do some of that - what’d you call it? Self-care? Go have a beer or six by myself and let off some steam.”

He squirmed inwardly as Dick studied his face for a long moment, but at last Dick dropped his hand and stepped back. 

“I’m open anytime,” he said. “Just let me know. It would be nice to do something normal with you, you know?”

“Yeah.” Jason pulled open the door and hesitated just a second. “That sounds nice. Later.” 

Not waiting for an answer, he walked out and pulled the door shut behind him. Stupid Grayson. Didn’t he know yet that they were cursed? None of them would ever get to enjoy doing anything normal. He pretended that he couldn’t feel Dick’s concern or the shadow of the touch on his shoulder all the way down to the street.

* * *

The basement of the club smelled like stale sweat, sex, and mildew. Places like this probably didn’t get a thorough cleaning very often, but that was part of the appeal. The bass from music being played elsewhere was a steady throb through the walls. A woman was alternating between moans and screams nearby. At least, that’s what Jason thought. It was hard to tell over the sound of the man bellowing directly into his face. 

“You _will_ respect me, you little faggot! I am your _master_!”

Jason was tied by his wrists and ankles to an X-shaped rack, barefoot and naked except for a cowl that covered his eyes and his hair. He could feel the man’s hot, foul breath and little flecks of spit hitting his face. Pain throbbed in his cut lip. He probed the cut with his tongue and tasted salt and copper. He spat the blood to the floor and heard the man in front of him jump back with a curse.

“How _dare_ you?!” The blow was sudden but not unexpected - a heavy hand across the jaw that snapped his face to the side. 

A low laugh escaped Jason’s throat even as his blood roared in in his ears. _This_ was supposed to be torture? _This_ was supposed to be pain? He’d come to this place because it was supposed to be where all the freaks gathered, the real sadists and masochists. There were rumors that a sub had actually been murdered here and the body disposed of, but nobody Jason had spoken to had been able (or willing) to say for sure.

“Gonna have to do better than a love-tap, sweetheart.” He turned to face the man he couldn’t see and let blood dribble from between his teeth as he smiled. It was disgusting, but what disciple of Batman could ever resist being as dramatic as possible? “You seem like the kind of sick motherfucker who only really gets off on hurting people if they’re weaker than you… So that really just leaves little kids, doesn’t it? Do you get off on hearing them cry? You know what Batman does to people like you, right? I do. When he catches you for being a kiddy fucker you’re gonna wish he _did_ kill people.”

Hands seized Jason’s throat and squeezed. They were soft and clammy and feverishly warm. The man attached to them snarled obscenities, but Jason smiled. He smiled even as his breathing became ragged and his vision pulsed with the desperate pounding of his heart. He smiled and didn’t struggle against his bonds, didn’t even turn his head. That would be giving the weak motherfucker what he wanted and Jason would never give the satisfaction of a struggle to someone like that.

All he wanted was the pain. All he wanted was to hurt so bad that his body screamed and his mind fell and he could be allowed to sink into the abyss inside himself. He craved escape from himself, from this place, from the man touching him. And yet knew he didn’t deserve anything better. This was his sin, and his penance. 

He was just starting to slip towards blessed unconsciousness when something unexpected brought him back to earth.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.”

A man’s voice. It was low and smooth and quiet, especially compared to the guttural grunts of the asshole choking him out. It sounded familiar, but Jason’s oxygen-starved brain couldn’t place it.

“Who the fuck are you?” The hands left Jason’s throat as, presumably, his so-called torturer turned to face the intruder. Jason didn’t want to gasp for air but his body had other ideas. He coughed and sucked in air between his bloody teeth. Turned out that a body that’s already died and been resurrected once isn’t eager to repeat the experience.

“I’m his real master. I’ve come to take him home.” 

His _real_ master. Was it the words themselves or was it the way they were spoken (with quiet but absolute assurance) that made Jason’s blood quicken? 

The sound of footsteps coming closer. High-quality shoes, from the sound of the soles on the concrete floor. The weak motherfucker who was supposed to be his “dom” wore cheap shoes. He stank of cheap cologne too, a piss-poor imitation of the brand that Bruce usually wore, actually. Jason hated that he knew that. 

“He came here saying he wanted a dom to abuse him,” complained the weak motherfucker. “He wasn’t marked as being someone’s property already.”

“Yes, I’m afraid we had a fight. He’s always been far too willful for his own good. But rest assured that he will be punished severely for this stunt. I apologize for any inconvenience caused.” The sound of a billfold being opened and the soft rustle of paper bills being counted out. “Please accept this as a token of my apology.”

The bribe was apparently acceptable because the cheap shoes walked towards the door and paused. Jason had caught his breath by now and was listening hard. He could practically see the sneer on his face, despite the cowl that was still over his eyes. A weak man like this couldn’t bear not to get in the last word.

“Best of luck with that one. I hope you break him. Hard.” 

The door opened and slammed shut. Jason was left alone with his mysterious, anonymous “rescuer”. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He tried to snarl at the interloper but his voice was raspy from the choking. He coughed despite himself.

The new man didn’t answer, but Jason heard him kneel and then felt hands on his bare ankle. The guy was wearing nitrile gloves. Unusual but not unheard of in a place like this, especially for someone into medical play. First one ankle restraint was released, then the other. Jason thought about kicking the guy in the teeth and then breaking his arms free on his own but decided against it. The thrill that had shivered through him when that voice had called himself Jason’s true master… Wasn’t that the sort of thing that he had been looking for in places like this? 

_Besides, he “saved” me. Would be rude not to stay and thank him._

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here, Jason?” The low voice suddenly turned harsh. And very, _very_ familiar. 

The bottom dropped out of Jason’s stomach. Blood roared in his ears again. The entire world turned briefly upside down as realization arced through him like an electrical charge. He pulled at his bonds but strong hands grabbed his still-bound wrists and held him tight.

“ _Dick?_ What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” 

The hands released his wrists and yanked the cowl up and off his head. Jason blinked as the world reappeared around him. A world dominated by a face. A face with tousled black hair and concerned eyebrows and blue, blue eyes and fucking perfect bone structure. 

...Which was somewhat spoiled by the fact that he was also wearing a black kerchief over his nose and mouth.

Jason stared at him. “...And why the fuck do you look like you’re about to go rustle some cattle?” 

Dick’s eyes narrowed in a scowl. “Because I have the unique problem of being _more_ recognizable with my eyes and my cheekbones covered, that’s why,” he hissed. “And don’t change the subject. What are you doing in a place like this?”

Jason took a long, exaggerated look around the room. Up at his bound wrists and the rack to which he was still tied, at the interior of the room with its intentional atmospheric gloom alleviated only by cheap candles burning in cheap candelabras, at the vast array of whips, chains, clamps, plugs, paddles and other accoutrement that you’d find in any self-respecting torture sex dungeon. His gaze finally returned to Dick, brows slightly raised.

“Quilting bee?” He drawled. 

He knew why Dick was here. Dick was here because he cared. Because he’d used his Boy Wonder powers to deduce that something was bothering Jason. He’d followed his brother out of concern and found him here, in a seedy, shitty place full of seedy, shitty people doing seedy, shitty things to each other. And now he wanted to know why, _why_ Jason felt the need to come here for this, to be abused by strangers who he wouldn’t even deign to shoot in the face as Red Hood because they weren’t worth the ammo. 

How could he explain? How could someone like Dick Fucking Grayson ever possibly understand the abyss inside him that could only be filled by pain? How did he explain that after you’ve been dead and resurrected, pain is the only feeling you trust to tell you that you’re still alive? How do you explain that the soft touches are the thing that hurt most, so you seek to erase them with chains and whips and knives? How do you explain the guilt and the shame that you carry every day that’s now amplified by a million because all you’ve ever wanted was to be worthy of _his_ respect and now he’s seen you like this? 

How do you carry that weight? 

You don’t. 

There’s no explaining all of that to Dick Fucking Grayson. So you lie and you bullshit and you try to piss him off so that he forgets to be concerned. 

Dick took a step closer, practically bringing their bodies together. Jason was still naked, but that didn’t really matter to either of them. Nudity stopped registering on the weirdness scale after you had been in the Bat-Family for a while.

At least, that was _usually_ the case. Jason wasn’t sure if it was because he was in what could be delicately termed a ‘compromised position’ or just the emotion of the moment, but it felt like electricity when Dick’s leather jacket brushed his ribs. The room was cold and the heat of Dick’s body just a few inches away was palpable. Jason even caught a whiff of the scents of all the skincare products he had so carefully applied earlier. The look on Dick’s face was one of anger and worry and determination to know the answers.

 _Don’t you dare bullshit me_ , his expression said.

It took a lot to make Dick truly angry. Jason had seen it before and he knew Dick wasn’t anywhere close to there now. The problem was that Jason wanted him to be. Dick being angry was better than Dick being concerned. Although sometimes with Dick, as with Bruce, it could be hard to tell the difference. 

“You are coming home with me right now and we’re gonna have a talk. And if you run and make me chase you down, you will regret it. Got it?” Dick grabbed Jason’s chin and forced Jason to meet his gaze.

Stupid fucking Grayson and his stupid fucking always-wins-the-staring-contest eyes.

“Yeah, I got it.” Jason sneered a little and jerked his head out of Dick’s grasp. 

He knew he was acting like a teenager who got caught breaking curfew but he didn’t care. Anything was better than acknowledging the shame and embarrassment that was roaring inside him like a chasm beneath the smirk and snark. Jason would never, _could_ never admit how thin that veneer really was, nor how desperately he wanted to hide the feelings roiling inside him. 

“You wanna untie me and find my clothes or should I walk home with a cross on my back and my dick hanging out?”

The elder brother stepped back and folded his arms across his chest.

“Really? You want to start doing that now?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “My _cock_ hanging out. Better?”

“Much.” Dick unstrapped Jason arms from the rack. While Jason rubbed his wrists, he picked up the pile of neatly folded clothes from the long table full of sex toys and torture implements and threw them at him.

“I’ve got a mini EMP device in my pocket that’s knocking out the cameras and bugs that are _probably_ in this room, recording everything. I’m sure the perverts who run this place film it all, both for their own enjoyment and to have blackmail material on all their patrons. So there should be no record of anything that happened after I walked in here. I _hope_ you had the foresight to do something similar.” Dick walked to the door and waited.

“Where would I have kept it? Up my ass?” Jason pulled on his jeans and shirt and his leather jacket. He was grateful Dick had stepped away. Dick being so close had made his pulse go berserk.

No answer to that quip. That was a good sign - maybe Dick was actually closer to being angry than Jason thought. He met Dick by the door.

“So… you gonna lead me out of here with a collar and leash or what?”

“I should. That would make the most sense for this scenario. But since I don’t have a collar and leash in this pair of pants and I don’t want to steal theirs, you’ll just have to act contrite.” Dick opened the door and grabbed Jason by the back of his neck, like a mother cat picking up a kitten by its scruff. He forced Jason to walk with his head bowed low.

Later, Jason would realize that he didn’t remember anything about the “walk of shame” through the dungeon. Who Dick spoke to, how he managed to sweet-talk his way out of the situation, if money had changed hands… all of it was a dull background blur to the electric heat of the hand gripping the back of his neck and controlling him. 

The feeling was so intense that it was almost a relief when they walked out into the muggy air of a Blüdhaven night and Dick released him. They were close to the harbor so the air was heavy with seawater, gasoline and the tang of steel and smoke. Even so, Jason took a deep breath in an attempt to clear his head. The nondescript building from which they had just emerged remained dark and nondescript as ever. No sign of what was going on beneath the surface.

“So- ” Jason started.

“You’re coming home with me and we are going to have a conversation about whatever the hell just happened in there.” Dick repeated, cutting him off before he could even get out a sentence. “And if you try to bolt, I swear to God I will chase you down.”

“You know, I really thought I graduated from the famous family lectures when I, you know, _died_ and then after I _moved the fuck out_ ,” snarled Jason.

Dick had started walking in the direction of his place, obviously expecting (and trusting) Jason to follow him. He stopped now and looked over his shoulder.

“If you’d rather go and explain all of this to B instead, be my guest. I would love to see his reaction to you apparently wiping your ass with everything he ever taught you about protecting your identity and not putting yourself in harm’s way for no good reason.” 

There was no answer to that, so Jason didn’t even make an attempt at giving one. Telling Dick about this hadn’t been an option to begin with. But now that Dick knew, telling Bruce was even less of an option. To say nothing about the rest of the family. Instead, he ground his teeth and followed.

* * *

_Well doesn’t this just feel oh-so-familiar?_

Once again, Jason found himself in Dick’s kitchen feeling defensive. This time, however, he was slouched on a bar stool and Dick was standing, arms folded across his chest. The black kerchief was gone, along with the cattle rustler look. Pity. Now he had no choice but to take Dick seriously.

“Is that helping?” Dick gestured to the ice pack that Jason had pressed to his eye.

Jason grimaced. “Yeah. It’s fine. Is this like The Princess Bride? Are you making sure I’m in good shape before you tear me a new one?”

Dick raised his shoulders slightly. 

“Maybe. Probably. Are you ready to talk about what you were doing there?”

“No. But you’re not gonna leave me alone until we do, so let’s get this over with. Despite all appearances I’m really not into prolonged torture.”

“Jason.”

“The whole crowbar incident sort of put the nail in that coffin,” Jason couldn’t help but snarl.

“ _Jason._ ” Dick’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you want, boy detective? You wanna know the truth?” Jason wished he could shut up and stand there and be cool and intimidating and just wing off one-liners. Why was it that he could do that as the Red Hood in front of a room full of gangsters with guns and not now? He wanted to get it over with. Wanted the disgust and disappointment to finally appear in Dick’s face so that he could stop anticipating it. 

“Fine. The truth is that I like pain. I like… feeling pain. So I go seek it out in places like that because I can’t exactly ask a _normal_ person to do that to me.” 

Despite his best efforts to keep his eyes fixed on the marble countertop, Jason glanced over at Dick. 

Dick’s expression was unreadable. Dammit.

“Are you _mad_? Because it’s none of your fucking business what I do on my own time, Dick.”

Dick shook his head and his voice was soft. Softer than Jason expected. “No, I’m not mad. I’m -”

Jason yanked the ice pack away from his eye and glared at him. “Seriously, it is _none_ of your business. And if you tell anyone about this, I will kill you. I mean it.”

“I’m not -”

“If you tell Bruce about this, I will kill you and he will never find your body.” It was a harsher threat than Jason really intended but the idea of Bruce knowing about this made him want to dig himself back into a coffin with his bare hands. 

“Jason, shut up and listen to me. I just told you I’m not mad, I’m -”

“If you say disappointed I swear to God-”

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me!” Dick’s eyes flashed. Jason clamped his mouth closed and concentrated instead on grinding his teeth.

“I am not angry _or_ disappointed, you idiot. I’m _worried_.”

Jason frowned. “Why? You know none of those people in there were a threat to me.”

“No, of course not. You could have smashed your way out of that rack and taken out every single person in that whole place blindfolded and with your hands tied. That’s not what I was worried about, Jay.” Dick took a deep breath. 

Jason just watched him, waiting for him to continue. From the set of Dick’s shoulders, he could tell that he was trying to keep a hold on himself. He saw Dick’s eyes glance at the ice pack resting on the counter and concern flicker across his face. He knew Dick probably wanted to tell him to put the ice back up to his eye, but also didn’t want to pick a fight now that he was listening. 

“The guy who was ‘torturing’ you is a mid-level enforcer for the Penguin. I’ve seen him before. He didn’t recognize you, but what if he had? What if he told his boss about it? What if word got out that oh hey, the Red Hood secretly likes to go to this place and get tied up and tortured a few times a month? Doesn’t take a genius to think that they’d find a way to put you in a situation that even _you_ couldn't get out of while you’re vulnerable.” Dick watched Jason’s face as he spoke. “Did you realize any of that? Did you even think about any of that?”

“It would take a _hell_ of a lot of bad guys teaming up to take me out like that,” retorted Jason. But it was less of a snap and more of just a growl. 

“You’ve pissed off a _hell_ of a lot of bad guys,” he reminded Jason.

Jason shrugged and held the ice pack against his eye again. 

“Fine, so no going to sketchy clubs where bad guy mooks hang out and ask them to torture me. I’ll find another way to get my rocks off.”

“Is it a sex thing?” Dick asked.

Jason narrowed his eyes but didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure _how_ to answer, honestly. He’d said “get his rocks off” and it wasn’t _not_ a sexual thing, but to reduce it to just sex seemed… wrong. Yes, the whole point was that he was seeking release but it wasn’t just sexual. It was bigger than that. Deeper than that. _More_ than that. 

“It’s okay if it’s a sex thing,” Dick continued.

“It is but it’s not.” Jason admitted. He was studying Dick hard through his narrowed eyes. “It’s just…Why do you want to know this shit anyways? I thought you were going to lecture me for being a freak.”

Dick frowned. “I’m not going to lecture you for being a freak. You’re _not_ a freak. And I’m asking you because I want to help you.”

 _Not a freak? Didn’t think I’d hear that one._ Jason scrutinized Dick for a long moment. Dick had moved over to the kitchen island and was leaning forward with his elbows and forearms resting on the counter, his gaze and body language all pointed directly at Jason. Dick’s dark hair was falling into his eyes and his expression was sincere. Maybe he really did want to help. Maybe Jason actually wanted him to help. Well, it wasn’t as if this was going to get any _more_ awkward.

“You said you like feeling pain, and that it’s sort of a sex thing but also sort of not a sex thing. What do you get out of going to a place like that, aside from some old guy sweating on you? Unless you’re into that sort of thing? I’m not here to kink-shame you.” Dick held up his hands in a “no judgment” gesture. 

Jason made a face. “Fucking gross. No, I’m not in it to help some old asshole get _his_ rocks off either. The other person isn’t really important. They’re just…” He stared down at his hands flat on the kitchen counter. They were covered in tiny scars - relics of training, of knife fights, of punching through windows walls, faces, whatever that was in his way, of bombs that detonated a little too early, of clawing bare-handed through a wooden coffin and six feet of graveyard dirt. He curled them into fists. “I want to make myself hurt. I want _pain_ . I want to feel pain because it makes me feel _alive_. But at the same time, I can’t hurt myself enough. So I have to use someone else as a tool to get me there, to the place in my head I only reach when my body’s screaming. I’m the finger on the trigger and I’m the target, but they’re just the bullet.”

He fell silent, fists clenched on the cold marble counter, heart clenched inside his chest, jaw clenched until his molars hurt. There was no coming back from this. That was the truth of him, bleeding on a silver platter for his brother to reject or swallow. He didn’t know which he wanted more. He waited, and the silence stretched on just like the abyss inside of him. He felt this before, more often than he wanted to admit, when he had just confessed his sins at church and sat waiting for condemnation or absolution. But that was only in the eyes of God. What was that compared to condemnation in the eyes of Dick Grayson?

The silence stretched for so long that Jason finally forced himself to look up. An unreadable expression had filtered into Dick’s blue eyes, a light that Jason had never seen before. It made something tighten inside his stomach, something he didn’t want to name. He dug his fingers into his palm and sought refuge in anger so all the other emotions wouldn’t betray him.

“Would you just say something?” He snapped at Dick.

“You deserve a better bullet.”

An involuntary shudder tore through Jason’s whole body. Sheer force of will enabled him to stifle his sharp intake of breath, but only barely. 

Jesus Christ. He didn’t know if it was the words Dick said or the way Dick said them but _something_ had made a whole mess of feelings clench themselves into a knot in his gut. He stared hard at Dick, not sure if Dick had meant it the way it had sounded… 

“What does that mean?” He finally forced the words out of his dry throat. 

_You know what you want it to mean,_ a voice hissed inside his head. _It’s what you’ve secretly always wanted. You’re disgusting. You’re broken. Your sins are a curse on you and everything you touch. You know it’s true._

“It means I want to help you.” Dick straightened and walked around the island to Jason. 

Jason let him approach but watched him with a wary eye. The knot of guilt and desire in his gut still throbbed with tension. The voice in his head still screamed about his sins. But all of that paled in comparison to the ache of desire that got stronger as Dick approached.

“Help me how?” Jason forced himself to meet Dick’s eyes. Since he was sitting on the barstool, they were almost the same height with Dick just a few inches taller now. It was strange to be seeing him eye to eye instead of from above. 

Dick wrapped his hands gently around Jason’s wrists. The delicate skin was still tender from where it had been chafed by the restraints in the dungeon. His fingertips were a little cool, but the touch of skin against skin sent electricity coursing through Jason once again. He forced himself to inhale, wondering if Dick felt the same thing he did, the same electricity. His heart was beating so loud and so fast that he was sure Dick could hear it.

“I want to help you feel what you need to feel. I want to help you get to that place that you need to get to feel whole. And I want to help you do this in a way that’s safe and sane and that won’t put you in any danger.” Dick spoke in his softest, most earnest voice. His thumbs ghosted across the skin of Jason’s wrists.

Jason ripped his hands away from Dick’s grasp. The light touch was too much, too tender. He couldn’t handle that kind of gentleness right now. 

“What, you’re saying that you’ll hurt me?” He tried to scoff and sound scornful, but he wasn’t sure if he’d completely hidden the tremble in his voice. He suddenly couldn’t help but remember the feel of Dick’s hand on the back of his neck, forcing his head down in submission as he he led him away from that awful fucking place.

Dick nodded. “If that’s what you need to be okay.”

Jason stared at him for a long moment, trying to determine if this was actually some elaborate prank. What if at any second, Dick was going to burst out laughing and admit that he was just fucking with him?

“You’re Dick fucking Grayson,” he blurted. “What the hell do _you_ know about causing pain?”

Up went that right eyebrow of Dick’s again, perfectly sardonic. The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk that made Jason’s throat go dry again. Any doubt he had about Dick’s sincerity vanished.

“I’m Dick fucking Grayson,” Dick practically purred. He leaned forward, his palms flat on Jason’s thighs. “I know _all about_ causing pain.” 

Jason was pretty sure after the fact that part of his mind imploded in that moment, or maybe he suffered a tiny involuntary blackout. Because the next thing he knew, Dick was standing a few feet away again, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his pants as he watched Jason with a small frown.

“You need to keep holding that ice pack to your eye if you don’t want it to swell shut,” he was saying. “It’s not doing any good just sitting on my counter.”

With a squinty glare, Jason pressed the ice to his face again. Honestly, he was grateful to have something else to distract him. The sensations of cold and pain were better than whatever fucking mess of emotions was happening in his stomach right now. Cold and pain he knew how to handle, unlike everything else he felt.

“Fine,” he said gruffly. “If you really want to try this, we’ll do it. But this is absolutely not a sex thing, okay? It’s just pain.”

“I understand.” Dick went to the fridge and pulled out two bottled sparkling waters. He popped the caps off both and offered one to Jason. “I have no interest in fucking you, so don’t worry about that. You are, after all, my brother and stuff.”

“...Yeah. And stuff.” Jason took the sparkling water and sipped it. The cool fizz felt good on his dry throat. He knew it was psychosomatic, but it seemed to cool down some of the heat and the tension in his gut as well. He was grateful that Dick wasn’t standing close to him anymore. It was easier to breathe this way. 

But still...

He found himself fighting down the disappointment searing him like a white-hot wire, along with a desire that he was still too afraid and ashamed to admit in his conscious thoughts. It was a desire he had buried deep inside himself for a long time, but that had clawed its way out of the mental graveyard of his mind. It was fitting, he supposed, that his unnatural abomination zombie desires went along with the rest of his unnatural abomination zombie existence. 

“You know, even if it’s not a sex thing it’s pretty fucked up for one brother to offer to torture the other one.” He watched Dick take a long swig from his bottle. “Normal people don’t do shit like that.”

Part of him almost hoped that Dick would turn to him with a thoughtful look and say “Oh yeah, you’re right. Let’s forget about it then,” and the whole subject would be dropped forever. The other part… not so much.

“Yeah, well… We’ve never had the luxury of being normal, have we?” Dick grinned at him, but there was something else behind the grin, an emotion that Jason couldn’t quite identify. “I can’t say this is something I ever expected to volunteer to do, but it’s not the weirdest.”

Jason chose not to dwell on what Dick could have done that was weirder than this. Instead he put down the ice pack beside the now-empty bottle.

“I’m going home, unless you plan on tying me down and stopping me tonight.” He looked at Dick with raised eyebrows, hoping that he sounded dry and nonchalant. 

Dick shook his head. “No, not tonight. I don’t think either of us are in the right headspace for that tonight.” He frowned a little at Jason. “You’re not just gonna run out of here and go find some other gross, shitty place, right?” 

Jason had been thinking about doing just that, of course, but he knew that Dick would sniff him out again if he did. Although, he admitted to himself, it might be sort of fun to go get in more trouble just to see how mad he could make Dick. 

“No, I’m planning on going home like a good boy. I’ll say my prayers before bed and everything,” he smirked as he stood up. 

“Good. Your face is going to feel even worse tomorrow so you should get some good rest.” Dick walked Jason to the door. “Wait. Before you go, there’s one more thing.”

Just like last time, he stopped Jason with a hand on his shoulder. Jason tried to ignore the fact that he could feel Dick’s bare fingertips against his neck above the collar of his jacket, even though the touch burned.

“Yeah? What? Have you changed your mind and now you’re gonna yell at me and call Bruce?” His voice was somewhere between snarky and wary.

“No, of course not. All this is just between the two of us.” Dick looked up and caught Jason’s eyes, forcing Jason to hold his gaze. “I want to ask you one more thing, and I want you to tell me the truth.”

Jason hesitated. His instinct now was to lie on principle, but he wasn’t sure he could. Or even if he wanted to. He knew Dick would know if he did. He nodded once, curtly.

“Fine. What is it?”

“When you get the urge to feel pain, do you ever hurt yourself?”

A muscle twitched in Jason’s jaw. He hadn’t expected this question, although perhaps he should have. Count on Dick to be that perceptive. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Yeah, sometimes. If I’m really desperate for it.”

“How badly do you do it?” 

Dick’s voice was so soft that Jason suddenly hated him for it. He didn’t know if it was sadness or pity or even sympathy, but he didn’t need it and he didn’t want it. He glared and tried to shrug the hand off his shoulder.

“Bad enough, okay? It’s none of your business, so fuck off.”

Dick hand grabbed the back of his neck again, this time tangling in Jason’s hair as well. What you forgot about Dick Grayson’s hands was that, for all his long fingers and soft skin, he had strength in them honed from decades of gripping trapeze bars and handholds on slick buildings. He was _strong_. Jason didn’t try to pull away, knowing that escaping from Dick’s grip would be a pyrrhic victory at best. 

“You’re not allowed to do that anymore, do you understand?” Dick spoke in a low, even voice, but with enough steel in it that Jason knew he was serious. “You aren’t allowed to hurt yourself anymore.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what I’m _allowed_ to do?” Jason snarled.

Dick’s short nails dug into the skin of the back of Jason’s neck.

“You aren’t allowed to hurt yourself anymore because that’s _my_ job now. Do you understand?”

And there it was, the same dark voice that Dick had used in the club to call himself Jason’s true master. Jason was still glaring at Dick, but he had unknowingly tilted his chin down in submission.

“...I understand,” he growled softly.

Dick released him.

“Good. I’ll call you tomorrow. Go home.” 

With that, he reached past Jason and opened the door. Jason walked out into the hallway in a sort of daze. He intended to go home, as he had promised, but he knew there was no way he’d be sleeping tonight. Not with the memory of Dick’s fingers sparking electricity across his skin.


	2. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Dick's offer to hurt him whenever he needs it, Jason seeks guidance from a higher power. But that doesn't prepare him for what happens when he comes face to face with Dick again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really excited about this next chapter and I hope you are too!
> 
> As always, a big thank you to my great buddy Orphean for being my cheerleader and beta!

Gotham was a city best experienced at night. 

The towering skyscrapers that loomed waking and watchful in the night, the grimacing gargoyles that adorned the grand old architecture of the old buildings, the glorious chiaroscuro of the bright lights piercing the blackness, the throbbing energy of the city… all of it was lost in the waking hours, rendered dull and lifeless by the harsh light of day.

To Jason, who had been bred, born, and lived the first decade of his life within a few square miles of inner-city Gotham, it was the _only_ way to experience the city. Even in the day, only so much natural light filtered down to all the dark crevices of the city’s underbelly. Maybe that was why so much scum grew there.

Even Bruce Wayne, doubtless the biggest fan that Gotham ever had, seemed to realize the disparity of Gotham by day versus Gotham by night. Occasionally he even expressed his dismay at it. Jason remembered one morning long ago when Bruce was driving him to school through downtown. There was construction happening on the facade of one of the newer buildings. Construction crews appeared to be adding more dramatic sculptures and spires to the outside.

“It’s so gauche,” muttered Bruce from behind his thousand dollar sunglasses. They were stopped at a red light right next to the construction site. Bruce was driving Jason’s favorite car that morning as a treat - a red 1967 Shelby GT convertible. Despite Jason’s best cajoling, however, Bruce refused to ride through the city with the top down. Proof that even when Bruce Wayne was being cool, he was still a buzzkill. At least in Jason’s opinion. 

“What’s gauche mean?” Jason followed Bruce’s gaze to the construction façade, then looked back at him.

“Gauche. G-A-U-C-H-E.” Bruce spelled it out for him, knowing that Jason would most likely look the word up for himself later. “From context, what do you think it means?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “You can’t just tell me? It’s really gotta be another ‘teachable moment’ before I even get to school? It’s too early in the morning for this, old man.”

“You’re telling me.” Bruce muttered again as he sipped coffee from a stainless steel travel mug. Both of them had been out on patrol late the previous night, but Bruce still insisted on school for Jason and work for himself. “And yes, every moment is a teachable moment. Or a learnable moment, in your case. Now what do you think gauche means?”

Jason looked back at the half-constructed façade again.

“Ugly?” He guessed.

Bruce chuckled. “Close. It means more like… tacky or awkward. Not tasteful. Lacking in class.”

Jason digested this for a moment. “So, like, the Christmas sweaters that Dick likes wearing are gauche? ‘Cause that is some tacky shit.”

“Firstly, don’t insult your brother. Unfortunately, however, I would say that _most_ of Dick’s sartorial choices are extremely gauche.” Bruce managed to point a threatening finger at Jason without relinquishing his hold on his travel mug. “I forbid you from ever telling Dick I said that. If he finds out somehow, I will both deny it and ground you. Clear?” 

“Crystal.” Jason smirked, pleased to be in on a secret. He drummed his fingers against the backpack he held in his lap for a long moment, considering. 

During the moment of silence, the light finally turned green. Bruce accelerated the Shelby through the intersection. 

“Sooo the next time we face Joker, I can tell him that he’s gauche?” Asked Jason.

Bruce burst out laughing so hard that Jason was actually worried that he might crash the Shelby into the shitty sedan ahead of them. Fortunately, he managed to get himself under control and hit the brakes just in time.

“Oh my God.” Bruce actually pushed his sunglasses on top of his head so he could wipe his eyes. “ _Please_ tell the Joker that he’s gauche. He wouldn’t even know what to do with that. It might startle him so much that I can just slap cuffs on him without a struggle.”

“The _Riddler_ is gauche too,” added Jason, really warming to the subject. 

He loved making Bruce laugh. It happened so rarely that it was like fireworks or a snow day - a real treat. This was only magnified by the fact that there was absolutely no telling what would make Bruce laugh. His sense of humor was as much of an enigma as the rest of him.

“Oh, the Riddler is _definitely_ gauche. He’s so awkward,” Bruce agreed. “Even worse than Scarecrow, which is really saying something.”

“What about Penguin? Is Penguin gauche? He’s always got those fuckin’ bird gadgets and shit.” Jason had a tendency to slip back into his native East End accent (which involved lots of profanity) when he was excited.

“Oswald would be _so insulted_ if you called him gauche.” Bruce sniggered. He actually _sniggered._ “He thinks he’s so classy and high society… he’s the gauchest of them all. Iceberg Lounge? _Really_?” He paused, staring into the middle distance. “Oh my God… Do I have the gauchest rogue’s gallery?” He sounded as if this might be a legitimate reason to have a potential psychological crisis.

“They are all pretty shitty, B.” 

“Hey, my shitty villains are your shitty villains too, so watch what you say. And don’t swear.”

“Don’t fuckin’ swear?” Jason grinned.

“Don’t swear. And don’t fuckin’ push it, kiddo.” Bruce smirked behind the sunglasses.

The memory prickled at Jason as he walked through the East End with his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets and a cigarette between his lips. It was a bad part of town, full of violence and drugs and crime of all varieties - mundane, organized, and costumed. Crime Alley was the most infamous street in the East End, but in truth the whole district was like a festering sore. 

Jason had been born and raised here and, even after his ascension to Wayne Ward status, had spent a significant amount of time here. Granted, it had mostly been running around on East End rooftops as opposed to running through East End alleys, but what it all came down to was the fact that Jason knew these streets like he knew himself. 

What was a genuinely frightening place at night seemed overexposed and washed out by daylight. Places like this were not typically full of activity on a Saturday morning so Jason was pretty much the only person out and about. The whole thing felt something out of a movie - the morning after the apocalypse.

 _Last night felt enough like my own personal apocalypse to qualify_ , thought Jason as he turned a corner. 

He’d gone over the whole evening about a hundred times in his head. It had only been a few hours at most, but too much had happened in too short a time. It was overwhelming just to think about.

Dick had really called himself his master, even if he hadn’t meant it at the time. Dick had really offered to hurt him when he needed it. Dick had really grabbed him by the back of the neck and told him he wasn’t allowed to hurt himself.

Jason couldn’t stop thinking about it: how right it had felt and how badly he wanted it and how fucking _wrong_ it all was. He had come to terms a long time ago with the fact that there was something inside him that was fundamentally broken and sick. The feelings and desires he had deep inside weren’t things that anyone with a non-diseased, sane mind would want. He’d accepted that, and done his best to silence them, or to exorcise them out of himself with pain and repentance. 

But now those desires and feelings were back with a vengeance. Too many emotions had crashed and twisted around inside Jason last night. He couldn’t make sense of how he felt now. 

So Jason sought guidance.

The church crouched aggressively on the corner of Pearl and Seventeenth as though it were ready to throw down if one of the bigger buildings around it dared to try to invade its space. A tall iron fence enclosed the courtyard in front of the shabby entrance, making it seem more forbidding than a church really had any right to be. A sign above the entrance proclaimed Our Lady of Sorrows.

A lone figure was sweeping up litter and debris in the caged courtyard. He was short and had a rather paunchy, pugnacious look about him. A buzz cut didn’t hide the fact that he was badly balding. He smoked as he worked.

“Hola, Padre.” Jason leaned against the gate and grinned.

The man looked up from his broom with less surprise than curiosity. 

“Church isn’t until tomorrow morning, mijo. You’re a day early.” He spoke with a pronounced Spanish accent. Mexican Spanish, specifically. Maybe Jason’s Korean wasn’t quite good enough to decipher Dick’s skincare product collection, but growing up in the East End around a diverse population of scumbags had given him an ear for certain other languages and dialects.

“God’s open 24 hours, man.” Jason gestured up at the sky. “Means you are too.”

“God doesn’t need to sleep,” retorted Father Gutierrez. “But since you’re here anyways, you may as well come in. Gate’s unlocked.”

Jason did so. Father Gutierrez had been at Our Lady of Sorrows since he could remember, even when his mother had taken him to Mass as a little boy. He had been one of the only positive influences that Jason could remember from his life before Bruce Wayne had come into it. Jason still came by from time to time to check on him and seek advice. As a result, the priest was one of the only people who knew Jason’s other identities as Robin as well as the Red Hood.

“So what is it this time? You need to confess?” Father Gutierrez studied Jason, taking in the shiner on his eye and his cut lip. “Your red friend been busy with business again?”

“Ah, no. Mr. Red’s business has been excellent, but that’s not why I’m here. This is a bit more… personal.” Jason dropped the cigarette and ground it out under his heel to avoid making eye contact with the priest. “I need advice. We can talk inside and then maybe you can tell me if I need to confess or not. I’m not sure.”

Gutierrez nodded, not casting any judgment on Jason. At least not yet. He had known Jason a long time. Even as a little boy, Jason had been a spirit who was determined to try to do right but who must be left to find his own path to righteousness, not be led to it. The priest knew better than most how hard a path that could be to walk.

The two walked inside and sat down together in the last pew. Hazy morning light streamed in through the windows of the chapel so everything felt muted and soft, almost blurred around the edges. Gutierrez waited with infinite patience. Jason looked down at his hands in silence for a long moment, gathering his thoughts. 

“I’ve been doing things to hurt myself,” he said, finally breaking the chapel’s silence. “I’ve been doing it for a while now. A guy I know… I guess you’d say a friend of mine… found out about it last night and he was upset.”

“Why have you been hurting yourself?” Asked Father Gutierrez.

“Because it makes me feel better.”

Father Gutierrez didn’t answer, though Jason could hear him draw a quiet, sad breath. He squirmed a little on the hard pew (Were seat cushions a sin? He wondered for the millionth time since childhood) and waited. 

“What do you feel so badly about that you have to hurt yourself to feel better?”

Jason had known this question was coming, but he wasn’t happy about it. The answer was too big and too complicated even for a priest. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs.

“That’s between me and God, Father.” Jason watched the priest out of the corner of his eye. “There are things about me… Sins I’ve committed… that not even you can absolve me of. And I don’t want to burden your soul with them. So don’t ask me for my secrets and I won’t be forced to lie to you.”

Silence hung heavy in the hazy air of the church. Both men waited for the other to break it. 

It was the priest who finally spoke:

“So your friend found out about this and was upset. What happened?”

“He got _really_ upset. This guy… he’s about the most even-keeled person I know. It takes a lot to make him really upset, but he was. He told me that he wants to help me.”

“Sounds like a good friend.”

“He is, but it’s complicated.” Jason straightened and drummed his fingers on the back of the pew in front of them. “I’ve known this guy a long time. A real long time. And this is the sort of thing that would change our relationship, you know? And I’m not sure if I want that to happen. I’m not exactly the best at relationships to begin with, so the idea of fucking up one of the ones I do have is scary.”

“Change your relationship how?” 

Jason turned to face the priest, his eyes deadly serious.

“Father, I have a confession to make.”

“Yeah? Good thing I’m a priest.”

“I’ve been having impure thoughts about a man,” Jason deadpanned.

“Dios mio.” Gutierrez smacked him upside the head. “Boy, do you think I haven’t heard it before? From _you_?” 

“Ow!” Jason had allowed the smack to happen, but rubbed his skull for effect. “This one’s different, Padre. This guy… he’s like my brother. And I’m scared of losing that. I’ve lost enough families over the years and lifetimes. I’m not in a big hurry to lose any more.” 

Father Gutierrez considered this for a long moment.

“This guy… you love him?”  
  
Jason blanched visibly.

“As a friend? Brother?” Continued Gutierrez. “Or in an impure thoughts kind of way?”

“...Sort of all of the above.” Jason sank into the pew and groaned. “Fuck my whole life.”

Father Gutierrez ignored this with great dignity.

“And you think he loves you back? In at least a friend or brother sort of way, even if not in a romantic or sexual way?”

“I know he does. That’s why I’m scared of fucking it up.” Jason was practically ooozing onto the floor.

The priest calmly grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him back into an upright position.

“Sounds to me like you could do worse than accepting help from someone who loves you, regardless of what kind of love it is. Unless you think that he’s in this to take advantage of you.”

“No…” Murmured Jason thoughtfully, now rubbing his scalp. “He’s not the type to do something like that. If he wants to help me, it’s because he wants to help me.”

“Then take him up on it. The Lord works in mysterious ways and helps those who help themselves. Maybe he’s trying to help you through this friend that you have so many confusing feelings about. If it ends badly, at least you’ll have a resolution”

Jason stood and stretched his arms over his head, then crossed himself. That was certainly something to chew on. He raised his brows and smirked down at the priest.

“And what if the help he’s offering me ends up being reeeeeally kinky?”

Gutierrez gazed back at him mildly. “Then you enjoy it.”

“And what if it goes bad in the end?”

“Then you’d better hope that you enjoyed it while it lasted.”

* * *

It was a core tenant of Jason’s principles that he never answered the phone on the first ring. Perhaps it was a reaction to having been expected to jump immediately at every summons during his Robin years. But now he took a perverse pleasure in just allowing the phone to ring and ring and then, finally, stop ringing.

The phone rang at 12:36pm, not that Jason was paying attention or anything. He was in his garage, elbow deep in the guts of his motorcycle when he heard the call. It was only just barely audible over the Rage Against the Machine that was blasting from an old stereo nearby. Jason glanced down at his watch to check the time and smiled to himself. He proceeded to happily ignore the ringing.

The phone rang several more times before it stopped, and then there was the _ding_ of a text message notification. Then another. He finished the adjustment he was making to the bike and stood, grunting as his spine popped a good three or four times. 

“Alrighty, let’s see what Dickieboy wants…” He wiped the grease off his hands with a rag and turned the music way down.

 **One missed call from… Duck** was displayed on the phone screen as well as the notification for two new text messages. To his annoyance, Jason’s heart beat a little harder when he saw the name. He made a face and flicked that notification away, then looked at the texts. One was from Tim, asking if Jason was coming to family lunch that weekend. The other was from Dick and simply read **Call me.**

Jason studied the text for a long moment. He wanted to call. He wanted to talk to Dick about what had happened last night. He wanted to know if Dick felt as confused and overwhelmed and excited as he did. But maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’d laugh the whole thing off or maybe it would just never come up again. Either way, there was only one way to find out.

“Curiosity killed the cat…” he sing-songed as he held down **Duck** on his contacts list. “...But satisfaction brought him back.”

“Hey Jay.”

Dick answered on the first ring. No surprises there. Unlike Jason, Dick was good at answering his phone.

“You rang?” Jason drawled in what he hoped was his most nonchalant way. 

“Yeah, I did. I told you I’d call you today.” Dick paused. “Are you okay?”

Jason leaned back against his tool bench and crossed his legs at the ankles. Hearing that tone of worry in Dick’s voice was nice, he had to admit. Not many people had ever really _worried_ about Jason, in either his previous life or in this one. Bruce did, sure, and Alfred, but both of them were too stoic in their own ways to be very overt about expressing it. 

“Psh. You’re worried about that little love tap from the asshole last night? Come on, I used to get hit harder in sparring practice.”

“No, yeah, I know that. I mean everything else that happened last night.” Dick paused again. “I guess what I really want to ask is are _we_ okay?”

Well that was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Jason didn’t exactly know how to answer. Hell, he didn’t even know what he wanted the answer to be. All he knew was that the feeling of Dick’s touch against his skin burned in his memory. And that he couldn’t fall asleep the previous night because he kept thinking about how Dick’s eyes had met his when he’d said that Jason wasn’t allowed to hurt himself anymore because that was _his_ job. 

A sudden anger flared in Jason’s chest. _Fuck_ Dick for making him feel this way. _Fuck_ him for saying those words in that voice and then having the gall to call him this morning sounding unsure.

“I don’t know, Dick. Why don’t _you_ tell _me_ if we’re okay? You seemed to have plenty to say about everything last night, up to and including what I’m allowed to do with my own resurrected carcass.” He snarled into the phone.

He heard Dick draw a slow breath.

“Okay, that’s fair. A lot happened last night. I’m not sorry for any of it but I can respect that you’ve got a right to be mad.”

“So that’s why you called? To tell me you’re not sorry?”

“No, I called to make sure you were okay. And to tell you that I meant everything I said last night.”

There was a long silence between the two of them while Jason tried to remember how to form coherent sentences.

“Yeah?” He finally managed. “Everything?”

“Yeah, everything.”

Dick’s voice was so sincere that it made Jason’s chest hurt. 

_He’s taking pity on you_ , hissed the demon voice in Jason’s head. _He’s saying this because he’s a good person… better than you’ll ever be. You really want to taint him with your disease? Are you sure your soul can stand up under the weight of another sin like this? You want to be the cause of Dick’s downfall too?_

 _Yes_ , thought Jason, and he hated himself for thinking it. _I really, really fucking do._

“Jay? Are you okay?” Dick sounded concerned now. He must have been talking while Jason was arguing with the voices in his head.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Jason growled. “So you’re saying that if I called you up and said I need you to hurt me, you’d do it? And I mean _really_ hurt me, not just go through the motions.”

“Yeah, if that’s what you needed. If that’s what keeps you from hurting yourself or putting yourself in danger-”

“I literally shoot people for a living, Dick. I’m always in danger.”

“-Putting yourself in more danger than is _necessary_.” Dick finished as though Jason hadn’t interrupted him. “There’s danger and then there’s stupid danger. What you were doing was stupid danger.”

“I will be just thrilled to see what kind of diagram Bruce draws up to explain the difference between danger and stupid danger,” smirked Jason. “So when are we doing this?”

“We need to have another conversation first about limits and boundaries and stuff.” Dick’s voice suddenly sounded a little distant, as though he was looking down at his phone instead of holding to his ear. “I’m looking at my schedule… I could come to your place tomorrow after work.”

“Limits and boundaries?” Repeated Jason. “You are way overthinking this. I don’t need any of that crap - I just want you to beat me up and mean it.”

There was another long silence from the other end. Jason drummed his fingers against the tool bench, determined not to be the one to break it.

“Are you telling me that when you went to those places as a submissive, you _never_ had any kind of negotiations? You just let some random person tie you up to a rack and go to town?” 

There was an edge of anger to Dick’s voice that made Jason’s nerves prickle. There was something about when Dick’s voice went low and dangerous that made him want to taunt and tease and piss him off even more. It was just like how he’d enjoyed pissing off the criminals as Robin by being a mouthy kid. Bruce used to tell him that one day his mouth would get him into a situation his skills couldn’t get him out of, but Jason never cared. With criminals, it was easy to rile them up until they got stupid and sloppy. With Dick… Well, Jason mostly just wanted to see what he would do.

“Yeah, more or less. You saw what it was like - there was nothing in that situation keeping me from busting out and killing him if I really wanted to.”

“That isn’t the _point_ , Jason. Jesus, I thought you were smarter than that!” 

Jason rolled his eyes. “Happy as always to disappoint you. So what time should I expect you tomorrow? Since apparently this conversation is happening whether I want it to or not.”

“I can be free after seven.”

“Great. Bring dinner.” 

Jason hung up. He tossed his phone aside and turned the music back up before he returned to the motorcycle. He didn’t want to hear if it rang again.

* * *

Big Red’s Garage was an actual auto mechanic shop, or had been at one time. Now it served as Jason’s home and base of operations when he wasn’t off on missions or hiding out in one of his safe houses. The ground floor consisted of the old mechanic shop, complete with a few bays for vehicles and a faded sign that read “Big Red’s Garage”. Jason had kept the sign after he had bought the place because it tickled him. He’d purchased it exactly as-is from the old owner, so most of the old equipment and tools were still there as well. It had been his side project over the last several months to get the place in shape. He kept his vehicles in there now - a couple motorcycles, an old pickup and a vintage Camaro that he was trying to bring back to life. 

He lived above the shop in two storeys that he was also in the process of renovating. It was more space than he needed, but Jason enjoyed getting to compartmentalize his life. He’d learned that much from Bruce, at least. There was value in keeping your identities in different physical spaces. Jason Todd lived almost entirely on one floor and the Red Hood existed on the other.

At just after seven, Jason ambled downstairs into the garage to wait for Dick to arrive. He could have stayed upstairs and just watched for him on the security cameras, but he felt anxious and edgy. He needed to _move_. 

Jason could be a patient man when he wanted to be, but it was a lot harder when someone else was holding the cards. He didn’t know what to expect from Dick in this situation. Or from “negotiations” in general, for that matter. He was in uncharted territory and uncharted territory made him nervous.

He had been down there long enough to start contemplating a new organizational system for his tools when there was a knock. It was on the door of the garage that had previously been for customer use. He made his way over and put his hand on the handle without opening it.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Krypto the Super-Dog. I’m here to see a man about a bone.”

With a snort, Jason opened the door. Then he stared. 

Officer Dick Grayson stood outside Jason’s place, still dressed in his cop uniform. In one hand he had a steaming pizza box. In the other he carried a six pack of beer. 

Heat bloomed in Jason’s stomach at the sight of Dick in his “pig” uniform. He hated cops - always had - and never bothered to conceal his disgust at Dick’s chosen day job. They’d had plenty of fights about it in the past and neither one of them was willing to budge. Dick’s affirmation that being a cop enabled him to help people in a way that he couldn’t as Nightwing was an unstoppable force. The immovable object was Jason’s bone-deep conviction that all cops were bastards. But now Jason wasn’t sure if the heat in his stomach was from anger or from the fact that it was hard not to notice that Dick made that uniform look damn sexy. 

Being unsure which it was just tipped the scale further in favor of “pissed off”, which is exactly what Jason preferred. Anger was safer. 

“What the fuck is _that_?” Jason demanded.

Dick held the pizza box higher. “It’s from Big Joey’s. You said to bring dinner and I know that’s your favorite.”

“Not the pizza, asshole - what you’re _wearing_. I can’t believe you showed up at my door with pizza and beer in your pig clothes. You look like a fucking strippergram.”

Dick shifted his weight and shrugged.

“I came straight from work. Besides, Big Joey’s gives cops and essential workers ten percent off if we’re in uniform,” he explained.

Jason crossed his arms over his chest. “You are, famously, the ward of a billionaire. And you’re telling me that you go out of your way to save two dollars on pizza? That’s just sad. You are taking money out of the pockets of small business owners.”

“Oh my God.” Dick rolled his eyes up to the sky as if asking for divine assistance. “You are impossible. And technically I stopped being a ward at eighteen.”

“Taking advantage of your wealth _and_ pig status to rip off the common man. You are everything that’s wrong with society.” Jason pointed an accusatory finger at him.

Dick’s shoulders slumped. “I tipped them like fifteen bucks, so I’d say it about evened out. And I promise I won’t take public service discounts from anywhere again. Okay?”

Jason leaned against the door frame with a smirk. How often was it that he got to take the moral high ground with Dick? Seldom enough that he was going to really rub it in, that’s for damn sure. 

“So are you gonna let me in or what? Pizza’s getting cold out here.” Dick took a step towards the door.

Jason barred the entrance.

“Not while you’re dressed like that, I’m not. No cops allowed in my house.”

“I’m off duty.”

“Did I stutter? No cops allowed.”

“I’m your _brother_!” Dick’s voice rose.

“Yeah, that doesn’t help your case. In fact, that actively _hurts_ your case.”

Dick looked down at himself, then glared at Jason.

“I don’t have any spare clothes on me. You gonna lend me some or what?”

Jason paused as if this idea required intense consideration. “Fine, I’ll go get you something. Wait here.”

“You’re seriously going to make me wait outside?”

“Yes, I seriously am. Gimme the pizza and the beer.” He gestured for Dick to hand them over.

Dick did so, glaring at Jason as he did. “You are a real peach sometimes, you know that? Just a real slice of peach pie.”

“Nice insult. Be right back.” Jason smirked as he shut the door in Dick’s face.

When Jason opened the door again, Dick was still standing in the exact same position. The only change was that his expression was even more pissed off than before. It hadn’t taken Jason long to exchange the pizza and beer for a pile of folded clothing, but he certainly hadn’t hurried. He held the clothes out to Dick.

“Here ya go,” he smiled sweetly. “Now just nip into those and I’ll let you inside.”

“You want me to strip and change on your doorstep? In the open?” Demanded Dick.

Jason shrugged. “I told you that you weren’t allowed to set foot in my place while you were dressed like that. I wasn’t kidding. _You_ wanted to talk so you have to obey the house rules.”

“House rules my ass.” Dick muttered just loud enough for Jason to hear as he toed off his shoes. He put his hands at the waistband of his pants and glanced around to make sure there was nobody else walking by. 

Jason looked around too, craning his neck in an exaggerated way just to be obnoxious. 

“My stars and garters, Mister Grayson, are you _shy_?” He drawled.

Dick stripped off his pants, leaving him in his socks and boxer briefs for a few moments while he pulled on a pair of Jason’s gray sweatpants. He glared pointedly at Jason as he started unbuttoning his uniform shirt. 

“Big difference between being shy and not wanting to get caught being forced to strip out of your police officer uniform in public,” he said. “Huge difference, actually.”

“If you say so. Everyone in Gotham _and_ Blüdhaven _and_ at least half the people in Metropolis have seen your ass, so I don’t know why you’d give a shit now.”

“They’ve seen _Nightwing’s_ ass, asshole!” Dick yanked off his uniform shirt and the undershirt he wore beneath it. The replacement that Jason had offered him was a black tank top with a gold Wonder Woman logo. He pulled it on. It was a relaxed fit on Jason so it practically hung off Dick’s leaner physique, exposing his shoulders and collarbone. 

He looked down at himself and his borrowed ensemble and then back up at Jason.

“Am I allowed inside now? Do I pass muster?” He asked with as much sarcasm as he could.

Jason held the door open and stepped back. “After you, my Amazon goddess.”

“This is _your_ shirt, you know.” Dick walked past him into the garage, carrying his wadded up uniform under one arm and his shoes in the other.

“Yes it is. And when I wear it I feel like an Amazon goddess too.” Jason let the door slam shut and locked it, then strode ahead of Dick and led the way to the stairs that led up to where he lived. 

Dick followed him. “That ‘You’re everything that’s wrong with society’ speech was pretty good, actually. You been practicing that one for Lex Luthor or what?”  
  
“Nah, I never face off against that cue ball asshole. I was saving it to use on Bruce the next time he does something financially stupid. Or Tim. Either-slash-or, honestly.” Jason led Dick into his loft. 

The second floor of the building had been gutted and transformed into quite an attractive living space. It was open, with a spacious kitchen and living areas. The only enclosed space was the bedroom, which had once been an office. The building being older meant that there was lots of exposed brick and tubing from the old HVAC system. Jason had kept a lot of the industrial touches. One wall was lined with shelves made out of old metal pipes and wood that held a truly impressive collection of books. A wheel from a much older version of the Batmobile was displayed prominently on another wall. Instead of a coffee table beside the battered leather sofa, there was a marble headstone that read JASON TODD and his birth and original death dates. 

Jason cracked open two of the beers that he’d left on the kitchen table with the pizza. It was hard not to watch as Dick made himself at home. The sight of him casually padding around the kitchen - in Jason’s clothes no less - was an alluring one, in a strange way. It made Jason remember how things used to be. Dick joking with him as they made breakfast for themselves in the enormous kitchen in the manor. Alfred supervised at a distance, both pleased and piqued that they insisted upon doing it themselves. Bruce pretended to read his paper at the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen, the table that every single member of the family preferred to the grand one in the dining room. 

_Wishing for the past is dangerous, ‘Hood._ _That was a long time ago. A whole lifetime ago. Literally. You’re not the same people anymore._

Jason shook himself out of his memories and sipped his beer. His eyes couldn’t help but drift to Dick’s ass as he got up on his tiptoes to reach a plate on a higher shelf. It was damned hard not to look, but Jason tore his eyes away. 

_Turns out the present is dangerous too._

“Your shelves are too tall.” Dick complained as he brought the plates over to the table. 

Jason took one and handed him a beer in exchange. They both sat.

“Nah, you’re just short.”

“Charming. I can see that this conversation is gonna go real well.” Dick opened the pizza box and grabbed a couple slices. His eyes, however, were fixed on Jason.

As always, the intensity of Dick’s gaze made something sharpen inside Jason. Was it that he wanted to hide from Dick’s eyes? Or was it that he wanted Dick’s eyes to be on him and him alone? It was impossible to know the truth. More importantly, it was impossible to know what Jason wanted the truth to be.

“You haven’t told me what this alleged conversation is for. You basically invited yourself over and bribed me with pizza and beer. Good strategy, by the way. I’m not complaining.” Jason took a huge bite and savored it. Dick had been right about Big Joey’s being his favorite. 

“We’re having a conversation about how I’m going to torture you.”

Jason froze mid-bite and stared. A string of mozzarella stretched from his lips to the slice still in his hand, but that was the least of his worries. Holy shit. Holy _shit_. Okay yes, Dick had said that he’d meant everything from the night before, but he really just fucking said that. 

Once again, the second best smirk in the world curled a corner of Dick’s mouth. Jason silently thanked God he was already sitting down.

“Try chewing, Jay,” said Dick. “Why are you so surprised?”

Jason swallowed hurriedly and put down the slice of pizza. He felt a blush creeping up his neck, which only served to make him feel pissed off. 

“Obviously I didn’t think you were serious,” he snapped. 

“Why? I told you on the phone that I meant everything I said.” 

Dick didn’t react to Jason’s temper. Maybe he would have, once, when they were both younger. But now he bore it with an... amused tolerance that somehow calmed and riled Jason at the same time.

“I know you did, but I still didn’t think you actually wanted to do… what I’d talked about.”

Why the hell did he chicken out at the last second? Dick had already said the word “torture”. So why couldn’t he say it? 

Dick was quiet for a long moment, long enough for the smirk and amusement to wane from his expression. This left him looking guarded. His blue eyes, usually so clear and open and expressive, were strangely dark. Jason couldn’t read them. The realization that he had no idea what Dick was thinking made Jason’s pulse quicken. He’d always been able to read Dick, because Dick had never been one to hide his emotions. But this… this was different. Dick was hiding, and everything in Jason urged him to find out why.

When Dick spoke again, it was in a calm, measured voice that Jason usually only heard him use as Nightwing, and then only when things were serious.

“You need to think carefully and tell me if this is what you want. Because if you don’t, I’ll walk away from this and we never have to talk about it again. I was serious about what I said but if this is just some joke to you, I want to know so that I don’t waste my time. So I’m going to ask you this just once, Jason: Do you want me to hurt you?”

 _Yes._

Jason’s breath caught in his throat as he stared across the pizza and the beer and the fights and the laughter and the tears and the years of being brothers that lay between them. He stared at the familiar face with the stranger’s eyes and felt the air leave the room. 

**_Yes._ **

Every breath in Jason’s body screamed the answer. His heart squeezed itself in his chest and a thrill coursed through his body like an electric current.

_Yes, I want you to hurt me. I want you to torture me. Degrade me. Make me feel pain so that I know I’m alive. Punish me for all my sins. Make me beg for salvation. Remind me why I could never live up to you._

But Dick was still watching him with those guarded eyes and Jason realized that he hadn’t spoken out loud. He had only screamed inside his head. He swallowed hard and forced himself to breathe.

“This isn’t a joke. I want pain. I… I don’t just want it, I _need_ it. And I’ve thought a lot about what you said the other night. About how I was being reckless and dangerous. You were right.” Jason paused and looked up to see how Dick reacted. It wasn’t every day Jason admitted someone else was right.

Dick just nodded so Jason continued, 

“I think I did that unconsciously. Made it more dangerous for myself, I mean. It was another way of punishing myself. If I got caught, it would serve me right.”

“Jason…” 

A little of the familiar softness filtered into Dick’s eyes again, but Jason looked away. He didn’t want softness. He sure as hell didn’t deserve it. If Dick knew how he really felt, he would never be offering to do this. But he was. And Jason didn’t have the strength to tell him no. 

“So yeah. If you’re serious, I want this. If it doesn’t work, we can stop.” Jason very carefully avoided looking at Dick, though he could still feel the full force of the blue gaze. It felt like a physical weight bearing down on him. Almost as heavy as Bruce’s gaze on a bad night. The pressure made him nervous and he kept talking even though he knew he should shut up. “I know that you’re doing this just to help me, and that you don’t have to. I know it’s a fucked up situation so if you change your mind, I get it. You don’t owe me anything an-”

“Jason.”

Jason looked up sharply at the tone in Dick’s voice. Quiet but commanding, lower and darker than his usual voice. It was the same way he’d spoken in the dungeon, when he had captured their immediate attention with just a word. It was a voice that belonged to midnight, that could be answered only with a whisper or a scream. 

Dick had pushed back his chair silently and was standing, his fingertips resting against the table, his eyes fixed on Jason. 

“Tell me that you want me to hurt you.”

Jason suddenly could not make his voice work, despite being unable to shut up just seconds before. He found himself transfixed, unable to do anything but stare.

Dick stepped around the table. Jason braced himself in anticipation of standing up to meet him, but Dick’s long fingers wrapped around his throat, just under his jaw. The touch was light but it was enough to keep Jason motionless in his seat. His gaze was riveted up at Dick, his brother, whose fingers were wrapped around his throat. 

“Do you trust me to hurt you? Because there’s no point in any of this if you don’t.” Dick still spoke in that midnight voice.

“Yes,” whispered Jason.

“Do you trust me and no one else? Because if we do this I will not share you with the scum of Gotham. Or allow you to hurt yourself. I meant it when I told you that was my job now.”

“Yes,” he whispered again. He swallowed hard and felt Dick’s fingers raise and fall against his throat with the motion. “But… why are you doing this for me? It’s fucked up. _I’m_ fucked up. You don’t have to do this.”

Dick’s fingertips pressed into the delicate skin of Jason’s throat, tightening his grip. A soft gasp escaped Jason’s lips, just the barest intake of breath. He hadn’t realized that he had tilted his chin up to give Dick more access to the vulnerable expanse of his throat. He hadn’t realized that his lips were parted, one corner turned up in a tiny smile of bliss. He hadn’t even realized that his eyes had gone half-lidded and he was gazing up at his older brother through his eyelashes. 

He didn’t realize how beautiful he was in that moment, how beautiful he was in the surrender.

“Oh Jason.” Amusement throbbed in Dick’s voice, something between a smirk and a purr. “You think this is all about you, don’t you?”

Jason’s eyes snapped open. He saw the change in Dick’s expression as perfectly controlled calm slipped into something sharper, something hungry. It was a hunger that Jason had seen before, but only in a mirror. He gripped Dick’s wrist in one hand, but didn’t pull Dick away from his throat. His heart pounded as if he were afraid, but he knew it wasn’t fear he felt. It was anticipation.

Once again, he had the feeling of standing on the edge of an abyss. But this time, the abyss wasn’t the disease he kept concealed inside of him. This time, the abyss was a man that he thought he’d known… but it turned out that there was something dark and deep and hungry and endless hidden inside of Dick too. 

“You don’t think that maybe I want this… that I need this... just as badly as you do?” Dick asked him.

“Why?” Jason asked, his voice still a whisper.

“You have your reasons and I have mine.” 

Normally that kind of answer would only have pissed Jason off, but he was beyond caring right now. Instead he tightened his grip on Dick’s wrist.

“Don’t stop.”

The cool, graceful fingers began to tremble against his skin. Dick pulled away, both from Jason’s throat and his grasp entirely. The sudden absence of pressure on his throat sent Jason reeling for a few seconds. He glared as Dick walked away from him and over to the kitchen.

“What the fuck?” He snarled, angrier than he would have thought he’d be. “You agree to hurt me, start to choke me out, and then stop? What the _fuck_?”

“I don’t choke people out.” Dick’s voice was back to normal now, or close to it. He sounded a little stiff, a little annoyed. Jason’s sharp eyes caught him flex his right hand, as if Jason’s flesh had burned him. 

“What if I _want_ you to choke me out?” 

Dick got two glasses and began to fill both with water from the tap. He kept his back to Jason for a long moment as he drained one of the glasses, then refilled it. Finally he turned and walked back to the table. He placed one glass in front of Jason and held the other himself. The water in the glass rippled from the tremble that still shook Dick’s hand.

“I don’t choke _anyone_ out. Stuff like this is why we need to have a conversation about limits and boundaries. Because if we do this, there has to be rules.”

Jason threw his hands in the air. “Rules. Sure. Let me go grab my copy of “Platonic BDSM Etiquette for Adopted Siblings” off my shelf and we’ll see what Miss Manners says about this.” 

Dick actually laughed out loud, which startled Jason. His head was already spinning from the emotional whiplash of bouncing from being anxious, to incredibly fucking turned on, to angry at being denied a good choking. Now Dick laughing at a joke he’d made was making him feel relaxed and happy. He loved making people laugh and Dick’s laugh was his second favorite in the world. But it was all too much right now. He actually put his head in his hands and groaned.

“You are so fucking exhausting, you know that?” He glared at Dick from between his fingers.

Dick, however, just nodded in sympathy. “Call Bruce up and complain about it sometime. I’m sure he’d love to commiserate. You got a pen and paper anywhere?”

Jason waved vaguely in the direction of the kitchen junk drawer and picked up the piece of pizza that he’d abandoned earlier. He’d learned over the years how to predict Bruce, but he’d never been able to completely predict what Dick was going to do in a given situation. It was one of his more maddening qualities.

“What are those for?” Jason asked as Dick returned to the table with a small spiral bound notepad and a pen.

“For the rules, obviously.” Dick took a few more sips of water and then a long swig of beer. 

“You’re gonna actually write them down? What for?”

“Makes it more official that way.” Dick shrugged and began writing. If Jason craned his neck he could see notepad over the pizza box.

Written at the top of the page In Dick’s square, all-caps writing was: RULES & LIMITS

“You are such a cop,” Jason snorted with the greatest derision.

“Rule one: This is strictly non-sexual.” Dick spoke as though he hadn’t heard Jason’s comment. “We’ve already decided on that one. We’ve both been pretty open about the fact that we’re not in this to fuck each other.”

“This whole thing is fucking deranged…” Jason shook his head.

“There are plenty of platonic BDSM relationships. It’s not that uncommon.”

“How many of those involve brothers who have to keep repeating that they’re not in this to fuck each other?” Retorted Jason.

“Touché. But we’ve never had the luxury of pretending to be a normal family, have we?” 

Dick looked up and met Jason’s eyes. Both of them thought about the things they had been through together as brothers, as boys, as men, as sons of Batman and Bruce Wayne. No, normal had never been an option.

“Okay yes, rule one is we’re not in this to fuck each other.” Jason shrugged. “I don’t have any other rules, so everything else is on you. I don’t care.”

Dick wrote a 1, circled it and then wrote down the rule. When he finished, he looked up at Jason.

“You have _no_ rules? No boundaries? No hard limits? No... nothing?” 

“Nope, not really. You forget, I’m in this to feel _pain_. I also have an incredibly high pain tolerance, been through torture resistance training, and, y’know, fucking died once. So if I set a bunch of rules that keep people from actually hurting me, I’m never gonna get to feel anything.”

A resigned look was beginning to creep into Dick’s expression.

“Fine, number two is that I will not choke anyone out. That’s _my_ hard limit.” He wrote that down on the notepad under rule number one. 

“What’s your other hard limits?” Jason was curious despite himself.

Dick paused. “I don’t actually have many, at least for this scenario. Most of them fall under ‘common sense’ or have to do more with the sex part. Which isn’t an issue because of rule one.”

“What’s the common sense stuff?” 

“No playing in public or doing anything that involves people who haven’t consented to be involved. Nothing that’s going to involve major blood loss or permanent damage. No filming or photos or recording of any kind.” Dick paused and looked at Jason. “I assume none of that is going to be a problem?”

“Guess not.” Jason laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair to study Dick. “I’ll find out what else you’re squeamish about as we go and you can add that to your little list.”

Dick ignored Jason’s rudeness and continued,

“Rule number three is that there has to be a safe word. I want you to pick something that you remember in the heat of the moment.”

“Why do _I_ have to pick?” Asked Jason, aware that he sounded like a whiny little kid.

“Because you’re going to be the one saying it, idiot.” 

Jason snorted and Dick rolled his eyes. Getting under his skin was always fun. But a safe word… a word that he’d remember in the heat of the moment…

“Crowbar,” he said abruptly.

“What?” Dick blinked at him, startled and confused.

“Crowbar. My safe word is crowbar.”

Dick’s mouth twitched and he covered it with his hand. Jason couldn’t tell if he was shocked or trying not to laugh.

“Even for you, that is _morbid_." 

“Hey, it’s gonna get your attention. That’s what you wanted, right?” Jason smirked.

Dick added the safe word to the list of rules and tapped the pen thoughtfully against the notebook. In the silence, Jason sipped his beer and watched. 

“What about aftercare?” Dick asked.

“What about it?” Jason gave a careless shrug. “I’ve never really ever done any of that and I’m fine. So I don’t really think we need to get into it.”

He expected Dick to protest or argue with him about this. In fact, he sort of wanted him to. He was still thinking about that hand wrapped around his throat… maybe if he got under Dick’s skin enough, he could provoke him into doing it again. 

Or something worse.

“Aftercare is important, Jason. You mean to tell me that you’ve _never_ had aftercare?” Dick was frowning at him. A little line had appeared between his eyebrows. 

“You saw the kind of places I go to. Did that look like the type of place where anyone would give a shit about aftercare?” Jason retorted. “Look, I don’t know what your experience with all this has been, but I’m not in this to deal with anyone else’s feelings or make anyone else deal with mine. All I want from you is to hurt me and to keep it a secret. Can you do that?”

Dick put the pen and paper aside and gazed thoughtfully at his brother. He leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands.

“So. You want pain. Just pain. No feelings, no emotions, no “strings”, no nothing. Not even aftercare. Just a beating and then that’s it?”

Jason felt his mouth go dry as Dick spoke. Yes, that’s what he _thought_ he wanted, but the way Dick had spoken was giving him pause. He felt the same sense of uncertain dread that he felt when Bruce had asked him “Are you sure?” about something when he’d been a kid. It was the feeling that you got when you realized a question was a trick question but you couldn’t figure out where the trick was.

 _I’m not going to let him fucking Jedi mind trick me into wanting this to be something it’s not. I told him what I wanted and he agreed to do it. If he wants something else, he can go to someone else. I’m not forcing him to be here._ Jason argued with himself. _After all, he said himself that this isn’t all about me._

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I want. Can you do that?” Jason repeated his earlier question, but with more of a growl in his voice. He might be asking for pain, but he wasn’t going to let Dick forget that he was still the Red Hood and therefore not to be fucked with.

“Yeah, I can do that.” Dick leaned back in the chair and ran his hand through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. His eyes were dark and glittering. 

Jason opened his mouth to respond, but Dick cut him off.

“Get on your knees on the floor and I’ll give you exactly what you’re asking for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (but also not really sorry) to end on a cliffhanger! But the next chapter's gonna be fun, I promise.  
> Thank you so much for reading!


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